V5 Announcements

Credit to the staff for writing the announcements: Clueless, MurderWeasel, Ruggahissy, MK Kilmarnock,Violent-Medic, and Rattlesnake

The First Announcement
THURSDAY, JUNE 14, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

At the heart of an internationally infamous terrorist organization was not where one would typically expect to find a person who, a few short years ago, had been an aspiring criminal psychologist, but fate could work in mysterious ways. Monica Brown had been close to the top of her class before graduation. Her future had looked bright, and passably exciting, if perhaps not what all the crime shows made it out to be. She'd had some offers for jobs, and if they had not been exactly lucrative, they had at least been steady, with room for advancement. Her future had looked clear, like what she'd always thought she'd wanted. Her parents had been proud.

And then, a few days before finals and graduation, the man had shown up. He'd introduced himself as Jim, and had told her that he'd been watching her for a while. Then he'd laid out, with near-perfect precision, how she'd cheated her way through every year of her exams, how she'd selectively plagiarized sections of her papers. And then, when she'd been ready to deny, to argue, to try to think her way out of getting caught and protect that boring-yet-steady future, he'd revealed that he wasn't anyone concerned with academic dishonesty at all. No, he'd let her know he had a job offer for her, one that would be both financially rewarding and exciting.

She'd taken him up on it so quickly, even he'd seemed a little surprised.

Monica liked to refer to her position as Director of Lateral Thinking, but officially she was in the Chief of Security. Oh, sure, there were people who outranked her, people who shared in her responsibilities. She reported to Sonia Nguyen and Steven Wilson, worked hand in hand with Lourvey and Abby and the rest of techs, but to all of them, the security and smooth operation of the game was simply one of many duties. For Monica, it was the sum total of her job.

She knew that failure here would be bad news. She knew she would be incredibly lucky to survive anything like what had happened last version, even if she wasn't killed during a hypothetical attack. Greynolds had made it clear that one did not retire from the Arthro Taskforce, and that there wasn't any position in the organization for a chronic failure. The idea, rather than being frightening, was energizing. It gave her motivation, a connection to her work, a drive. The cheating back in school, it had never been solely because the work was too hard for her. That slight element of danger, of rule-breaking, kept her focused. It let her care.

She took a long sip from her glass of water, rubbed her forehead, adjusted her glasses. Her hair was starting to get greasy already. She hadn't showered since the day before the kidnapping, focusing on sleeping as much as possible in the run-up to the students' arrival. Proper rest was vital to doing a good job, and she was preparing herself for the performance of a lifetime.

Her office was not a large room, and it felt even more constrained, overflowing as it was with a small refrigerator, a half-full trash can, two large, plug-in fans, and mountains of computer equipment. Had she not been such a thin woman, it would have likely been difficult to maneuver around. One console fed into ten separate monitors, each one tracking a different student. There were dedicated techs watching people more specifically, largely based on her directions, but Monica preferred being able to keep an eye on things herself. There were little behavioral things that the techs would miss, just like there were technical things they would be able to spot that she was completely ignorant of.

Thus far, the game was progressing nicely. Monica had insisted that paper and writing utensils be taken from the students but left on the island. The grunts had bitched about that for weeks, and more than once she'd been ribbed for her logic at the lunch table, but she had remained resolute. It was simple, she'd explained.

By removing the paper from the students' possession, it made undetectable communication inconvenient, stopping anything from being hatched spur of the moment. By leaving paper and pens available around the island, they allowed students who were intent on sneaking things under the radar to acquire the means to do so. They were sure to figure out some way eventually anyways; by leaving them a fairly easy option, the taskforce controlled the form that was most likely to take. Students who sought what they had been denied were, if only in a small way, rebelling against the implicit rules of the game, which marked them as possible troublemakers. Anyone so much as carrying a pen had someone watching them closely, and Monica herself checking in on them periodically. Everything she'd seen of them thus far had only solidified her confidence in that decision.

She had only read the student profiles a few days before the abduction, to better keep herself free of preconceptions. They were all stored on her laptop, which sat one the left side of her desk, at a right angle to the keyboard controlling the bank of monitors. The profiles, a series of documents in a database accessed through a spreadsheet of her design, were arranged not numerically, but rather by who seemed most likely to cause trouble. Monica had a system down pretty well there, a mix of traits suggesting rebelliousness, similarities to previous problem children, and gut instinct. Anyone who even slightly reminded her of herself got marked in red as someone to watch.

The last thing on her desk was a netbook, opposite the laptop. It had one purpose, and one purpose only: with about fifteen seconds of work, Monica could detonate any student's collar, or, if that seemed too extreme, send a warning beep or activate a speaker in their vicinity to address them. Greynolds had told her not to be shy about doing what had to be done, and if the thought of killing someone with the push of a few keys was a touch disconcerting, there was also something more than a little exciting about the prospect.

In a way, she was just as much a player in this game as any of the students. The only difference was, she was specifically competing against the cheaters, and she had all the tools she needed to win.

As a girl on one of the screens scribbled on a piece of paper, Monica took another sip of water and reached for the phone hung on the wall behind her to check in with the techs.

The first day was almost over, so the desperation would really be sinking in soon. That meant things were about to get interesting.

FRIDAY, JUNE 15, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

Sitting behind the desk, Tracen did his best not to fidget. He'd been here before, once or twice, in preparation. He knew how to handle the equipment, had taken a few dry runs with it, but it was different now that he was about to speak for real. He'd talked with Greynolds about it, taken what advice he could, though the man had been rather apathetic towards the whole process. Tracen had listened to and watched the tapes of his father performing the same duty, had tried to study them for technique. It was difficult; the man had changed his presentation often, the only thing binding the performances their energy. It was not an energy Tracen was sure he could, or wanted to, recreate.

He had a sheet of paper in front of him, on it written the names and causes of death, just in case he found himself at a momentary loss. He'd watched the tapes, several times apiece, and was pretty sure he wouldn't mess anything up. It had been memorable, more so knowing it had just happened than watching tapes of kids who'd died years before.

The technician on the other side of the room flashed him a thumbs up. It was just like the practice runs. Tracen took two deep breaths, let the tension flow out of him. He took a sip of coffee from the mug that was the only thing besides the paperwork and the microphone in front of him. Then he nodded. There was a click, and a light beside the technician flashed green. All across the island, speakers roared to life.

"Good morning, everyone. I hope those of you who slept got some good rest. The rest of you, well, at least you're alive to hear this. That's more than I can say for some of your classmates.

"Yes, we've already seen eight deaths. That's a pretty lousy rate, but I have hope for you yet. After all, there are dangerous people out there, and I'm only going to be telling you about the ones who succeeded. At least twice as many didn't quite manage to make things stick.

"First to die was David Russell, who either decided he couldn't deal with the stress or went absolutely bugfuck. He walked right off a cliff, splattered all over the rocks, and earned the prestigious Remi Pierce award for lemmings.

"After that, our first kill came at the hands of Theodore Fletcher, who gunned down Gabriella Parker. Saying 'pretty please don't shoot me' turns out to not be as effective at keeping you alive as, say, running away? Who could've guessed?

"Anyone?

"Bueller?

"Oh, that's right. It's common sense. Best keep that lesson in mind in the future. You're in a no-holds-barred match now, and relying on mercy is a great way to get killed. Remember, only one of you is going home.

"A short time later, Hansel Williams, our very own resident cowboy, decided to become an outlaw. It might not've been his first stickup, but his encounter with Daniel Whitten was by far his most deadly engagement of the day. Points for marksmanship, Williams. It almost makes up for your poor showing at the amusement park earlier.

"Theodore Fletcher didn't quite manage a hat trick, but he did collect a second point when he gunned down Dan Liu. Dan thought he might've found a good ally, only to discover he'd fatally misplaced his trust. Someone didn't look to his right like I told him to.

"And Jason Meyers didn't keep an eye on his own allies. He was gunned down by Joe Carrasco, who was supposed to be his friend. I'm glad to see that someone took away the right message from our little movie screening.

"Another enthusiastic participant was the up-and-coming Katarina Konipaski. Kelly Peterson wandered away from her companion, and reaped what she sowed when Konipaski reaped her. Death isn't the only one packing a scythe.

"But good old Death was busy today too. I've looked over the tapes a few times, and I can't quite pinpoint how it happened, but a simple trip led to a collision that sent David Zimmer for a swan dive off the hotel's balcony. I'd watch out for safety rails elsewhere. You know how it is; things got rushed and we didn't have time to get the inspectors in. Don't tell city council.

"Finally, Iselle Ovalle-Vandermeer put her softball skills to use and knocked Sven Olsen for a home run he won't ever be getting up from. Kids with kids just don't have it easy here, do they? Better get used to the Tyke, Mr. and Mrs. Victorino, unless your daughter manages to step it up.

"As promised, there are some places you need to stay out of. Our danger zones for today are The Amusement Park, The Airstrip, and The Hotel. Oh, and one last little rule I forgot to mention: we have a little vote here in the offices every day, about who had the most impressive kill for the day. The winner gets a new weapon and, as a new addition this year, a little something else. Today, we picked Katarina Konipaski. Congratulations, Katarina. You can make your way to The Amusement Park, where there's a box with a gun in it, two cans of Coke, and a double cheeseburger waiting for you. Hop to it, and it may still be hot.

"I'll catch everyone who survives tomorrow. Do a good job, and we'll cook up something special for you, too."

The Second Announcement
Richards liked the night beat more than his co-workers. It was quieter. Fewer people were around aside from maybe the drunks. Usually what he saw was something innocent mistakenly reported as a crime rather than actual crime. He was sure he'd never forget - or be allowed to forget - that time he'd almost arrested three members of a local book club.

Richards adjusted his vest. It was a bulky thing, but he was pretty sure he'd be grateful for the Kevlar sooner or later.

He turned a corner and stopped short, paused, and then stepped back to the right and behind the corner. A little ways down the street at the mouth of an alleyway there was a collection of figures standing in the shadows. Normally, Richards would've put it down to a huddle of hobos or something, if he hadn't seen flashes of metal, a glimpse of something that looked very much like a briefcase. Had he run across some kind of covert deal? Decently dressed, definitely no hobo and definitely carrying a gun.

He keyed his radio.

"Looking like a possible 966 in progress on 24th street... at least one suspect armed. Requesting backup, over."

"Baines here. I’m in the area. Be there in two, over."

Richards was hoping for more than one response. However, as the radio went quiet, it quickly became clear that was all he was going to get. The more he glanced around the corner at those covert figures, the more it seemed like there couldn't be anything else that they were doing. It was like 1am, they weren't outside of a bar or a club, and even if they weren't exactly hiding they were-

Two, three of the figures went into the alleyway itself. One stayed at the alley mouth. Keeping watch? Undoubtedly.

Richards stepped around the corner, loosening his service pistol in its holster. Suddenly there was a shout.

"NYPD! FREEZE!"

A cry of "Shit!" echoed from within the alleyway and the guy standing at the mouth panicked, bolting away from the voice... towards Richards.

The cop went low and body checked the runner, slamming into him so hard that the perp bounced straight off him and went careening to the ground. Rapid footfalls followed the departure of those in the alleyway. They were gone.

Businesslike, Richards rolled the groaning suspect over, cuffed him, and read him his rights, before confiscating his gun.

More footsteps, and Richards straightened up to glare at his erstwhile back-up.

"Great job," he snapped. "You spooked them. Three got away."

A laconic shrug from Baines. "We got one. Didn't fire any shots, and pretty sure they're not gonna be swapping any drugs tonight, right?"

Richards paused... and then folded his arms with a slight sigh. "Yeah okay, but I'd rather have brought them in."

"If you think you could've taken four guys with guns, then sure. Now we've got a suspect and nobody's dead. Everyone wins," he glanced down at the groaning perp. "Well. Except that guy."

That forced out a smile.

"All right. I see your point. Let's get this guy to a nice warm cell."

"Those cells are nicer than my apartment."

"You live in a junkheap? You smell like it."

SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 2013: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

Tracen sighed as he settled into his chair, unsurprised to find that he was far more accustomed to the office than he had been the previous morning. Everything gets easier with practice, he thought. Tracen had spent most of the day wondering if, or when, someone would criticize his last performance, and was relieved when no one had- at least not to his face. He found himself unsure whether that was out of respect for his father, rather than the quality of his public speaking. No one really spoke to him much anyway; the other staff generally avoided him.

He wondered if he was an adequate replacement for his father. Tracen lacked his father’s capacity for cruel humor and his mastery of lame puns, but he had tried his best to fill his father’s shoes. Perhaps he could get the staff to write his jokes for him. Tracen tapped his fingers against the desk as he waited for the technicians to finish rigging up the equipment.

A fresh mug of coffee sat on his desk when he entered, the cream and sugar packets littering the table indicating that it was made exactly how he liked it. Tracen had no idea who put it there, but it made him question how much his father had meant to the people who worked there and whether he would ever mean the same.

“Good morning, students. I hope this second day finds those still remaining well. Those of you who can hear me have indeed made it to day three. I congratulate you.

“Let’s see, in the early hours of the morning it looks like Amaranta Montalvo stabbed Michael Whaley to death with some broken glass from a snow globe. Improvisation is very important if you don’t have anything at your disposal so don’t be discouraged if you didn’t receive a good weapon!

“Our next kill comes to us courtesy of gravity. Wasn’t there someone last time that said something like that? In any case, Mark Little died from falling off the roller coaster. Which one of you put him in a roller coaster cart? That wasn’t very sporting.

“This next pair could teach the remaining students a thing or two about effective communication. It seems Megan Emerson and Francis St. Ledger were having an argument and she chose to effectively end the communication by pushing him down some stairs. This is also a lesson about having fights near the tops of stairs.

“Moving along we find the death of Kaitlyn Williamson, done in by rising star Miranda Millers and her spear. Right through the heart and you’re to blame.” Tracen hummed a moment before continuing.

“The next death shows that sometimes even death can be funny. Becca Everett was killed by Maximillian Sawyer. He shot her after distracting her with an exploding cigar. I have to give him points for ingenuity on that one.

“This one sees the return of an office favorite, the hunga munga. It’s very fun to say. Miles Strickland threw his and it hit Chuck Soileau. It should be obvious, but if you want to keep friends, you shouldn’t be throwing three-bladed weapons around carelessly.”

“It does seem a few of you have the proper spirit. Jaquilyn Locke and Joachim Lovelace were both trying to kill Miss Carmina Maliksi, but Joachim got to her first. Nothing like a team hunt through the woods to bond a team together.

“Our second catfight of the day was brought to us by Naomi Bell and Summer Simms. As much as we love pretty girls fighting, there could only be one victor and that was Simms.

“Next we have a trio of femme fatales, Lana Torres shot Venice Pennington-Johannes through the chest, little Yukiko Sakurai shoved Stacey Mordetsky off a small hill and Eliza Patton shot Luca Johanssen who then plummeted off the zip line platform to the ground. Those listening may be interested to know that of the 11 murders this announcement, seven of the killers were ladies. Well done to you, girls. SOTF is equal opportunity.

The very last death on the list is a late entry. Punch a third hole in Theo Fletcher’s frequent customer card. He’s at it again, this time dispatching Xavier Contel with his own gun. Fantastic.

That’s all for today. I hope you didn’t think we’d forget about the danger zones. Our danger zones for today are Lighthouse, The Homestead, and The Western Beach.

The winner of the office vote for our favorite kill is Summer Simms! Congrats! Please make your way to The Homestead and pick up your prize. Once there you will receive a very nice gun, a box of one dozen assorted doughnuts and a gallon of milk. Yum. Maybe you can share some with a friend.

Great job everyone. If you live long enough, we’ll have another chat."

The Third Announcement
SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, MORNING

Sophie McDowell

Lauren Rowe

Mirabella Strong Cyrus White

Monica Brown sat at her battle station and paged through her notes, her groupings, her monitors, once again. She'd actually managed a solid night's sleep. Jim Greynolds himself had wandered in around ten, peered over her shoulder for a while, standing slightly too close, then told her that he'd take things from here so she could be rested for the next shift. She hadn't argued, though it had rankled a little to leave her post. She didn't much care for picking work back up, especially after someone else left their fingerprints all over it.

But everything had been in order upon her return. Greynolds gave her a quick rundown of some of the night's highlights, but, as was apparently usual, most of the kids had slept through it. Monica was just checking a section of her list, adjusting for the death of one of her notables, when the phone beside her rang.

"Yes?" she said, picking up even as she let her eyes skim over the screens. She found it, middle row on the left, before Lourvey finished telling her the names of the students involved.

"Is it any risk?" she asked.

"No." It was unusual to hear that degree of confidence in the technician's voice. "A knife wouldn't scratch the finish. Like, they jam it right into the joints, it still won't make a dent."

"Okay," Monica said, a smile curving across her lips. "Thanks."

The students on her screen were messing with Rebecca Everett's corpse, and Monica found that she didn't particularly care that they wouldn't be able to cause enough damage to the collars by hand to make them detonate, let alone somehow deactivate them. What had dropped into her lap was the perfect opportunity to make an impression.

Under normal circumstances, the collars of dead students didn't beep. They didn't seem to be active at all, in fact, unless someone were to cause enough damage to one to trip its very-much-still-operational security measures. All of that could be changed, however, with a few keystrokes. Monica's fingers flew across the keys of the netbook, typing. It was a typed interface, so that mistakes were nearly impossible. Anyone who might need to detonate a collar could type quickly and accurately enough that it wasn't notably different from point and click anyways. It took her under a second to set things in motion.

AUTHORIZATION: KZHX87GHS COLLAR(S): G062 SPEED: F CONFIRM: YES

And just like that, the collar around the neck of Rebecca Everett's corpse began to beep rapidly. A few seconds later, as the would-be escapees scattered, it exploded. And that, by all rights, should have been the end of that. Monica flipped a switch, bringing the audio for the screen online, even as its image shifted, now showing the students outside, from a direct side angle. The cameras this time were a nice mix of the old, classic, large ones and newer button cameras, set to activate and transmit based on motion detectors or manual commands. Students in past years had shown a tendency to focus on what they could see, often attempting to stand in blind spots. The setup crew had made sure that most buildings had an appealing corner or two, seemingly outside the range of the most prominent cameras, where the view from the smaller lenses was especially good.

Monica's smile flagged for a second as she heard what the students were saying, but then it returned, broader than ever.

They were going to try again? She blew up the corpse as a warning, and so they were going to try again? So be it. That old definition of insanity, the one everyone credited to Einstein, ran through her head. And if they had no hope of making any headway, if they didn't even have the first clue what they were doing, if detonating the boy's collar wasn't strictly necessary, well, there was nobody who would tell Monica not to kill him, either. She had full discretion, and this would be another useful little lesson. Maybe after this, the survivors would play nice.

AUTHORIZATION: KZHX87GHS COLLAR(S): B034 SPEED: F CONFIRM: YES

As they shouted and panicked and died, Monica took a drink of water. Killing someone hadn't felt like as big a deal as she'd expected. Maybe it was the distance involved. Whatever the case, she was glad to have given it a go when it wasn't crucial. If anyone else came closer, she now knew there would be no hesitation.

SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 8PM

One of the great mysteries for the students of Survival of the Fittest, one of the most niggling little unanswered questions, unknown even to those students who had survived, who had come face to face with the terrorists and asked questions and spoken their minds, revolved around something seemingly minor:

Who the hell took the time to drag someone up a mountain? To pin some sad unconscious kid into a coffin in a haunted house? To strap not one but two children into rollercoaster cars, each on a separate hump?

Who was the asshole who stuffed Bill Ritch in a box?

Shamino Warhen was that asshole. It was part of his job. He always strove to keep humor and business separate, but every so often the two became inextricably linked, and it was then that he relished his work the most. He'd provided some of Victor Danya's better material, and while Tracen wasn't half bad, Greynolds had asked that Shamino give the boy a little crash course.

He'd already, very politely, pointed out that it was absolutely unheard of to name people involved with a kill who didn't pull the trigger. It had taken years for Victor to settle on that, but they'd decided that it was far and away the best choice, because it allowed for a little subterfuge, a little trickery.

But now Tracen knew, and it wouldn't happen again, and he'd agreed to let Shamino start the announcements off tomorrow, and the tech crew had been very accommodating of his little request, so everything would be a bucket of fun indeed. Tracen would write most of the material, but Shamino was pretty sure he'd get to steal the show.

SUNDAY, JUNE 17, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

"Good morning, kids," a voice boomed out. It was not Danya's voice, but that of a different man, smooth and calm and just a touch apologetic. "My name's James. I'm the collar guy, and, well, I'm sorry to say, after two promising days, nobody actually managed a kill yesterday. You know what that means."

At that, every student's collar emitted a single beep.

For two seconds after that, silence reigned. Tracen took a sip of his coffee. Shamino scratched his neck. Then he leaned forward again.

"Just kidding. Keep up the good work. Here's Danya with our main attraction."

"Thank you, James," the more familiar voice began. "While we're talking about everyone exploding, though, I have a little misconception to point out. Now, I told you all that any day without kills would end in every collar being blown. Far be it from me to discourage you from advancing our little game, but, to clarify, that's a day from one announcement to the next, not twenty-four hours on the dot between actual kills. I figured that'd be pretty self-evident, since it'd be stupid to blow you all up at noon because all the previous day's action went down in the morning and nobody quite managed to get in gear right after the announcement but, eh, I guess logical thinking isn't all of your strong suits.

"But, kids, I want you to know this: When I play, I play fair. The rules are what they are, and as long as you don't try to cheat, you have as good a chance as anyone else of seeing home again. Better, if you play your cards right. And that's the only way you ever will make it back.

"Now then, who died?"

Tracen held up a finger, and a technician muted the broadcast as he cleared his throat and took another drink.

"Brandon Baxter got himself into a tight spot in a danger zone. We were going to blow him up, but he beat us to the punch, setting off a pocketful of grenades. That's some real courtesy for you.

"Yasmin Carrol wasn't quite so clean about it. She managed to hang herself in the school building. I hope this doesn't become too much of a trend. Remember, even if it seems hopeless, you always stand a chance. I wouldn't have put money on some of our last winners.

"Rutherford Roger Junior rose from the dead and wreaked bloody vengeance upon Lauren Rowe, adding a nice new decoration to the haunted house.

"A short time later, Maximilian Sawyer struck, and in the space of a few minutes snatched away the title of top killer. He drowned Amy Bachelor in the hotel's swimming pool, then shot down Ilya Volkov and Lydia Robbins when they came to investigate and try to disarm him.

"In another failed attempt at vengeance, Nina Clarke fell prey to Madeline Wilcox. You'd think she'd have known better than to threaten the girl who stole her gun, but, like I said earlier, logic comes more easily to some than others.

"Rosemary Michaels thought she could remove Joey Caputo's collar with nothing but a little knife. It worked, too. Well, his head came off with it, but you can't have everything.

"Continuing the trend of collar stupidity, Clayton Leven wandered into a danger zone, and Tessa Blackridge tried to file her collar loose. You can add those to the list of ways to not make it back home.

"Joachim Lovelace surprised Adonis Alba, shooting him with his spring-loaded knife in the middle of their fight. That wasn't very sporting, Mr. Lovelace. Were you afraid you might not win fair and square?

"Mallory McCormick was gunned down in her own pillow fort, victim of Hansel Williams once again. Continuing the shooting trend, Yuan Stephanie Chan took out Brian Zhdanovich, and Makatala So'oialo bagged herself two points in the form of Carlon Wheeler and Alex Ripley.

"Finally, Natali Greer passed away in her sleep, after banging her head and not taking the time to look after it. Take care, kids. It's not just each other you have to watch out for. Nearly a third of our deaths today were from a stupidity epidemic.

"With that out of the way, today's danger zones are the Homestead again, the Nuclear Living Site, the Shipping Yard, the Northern Town, and the Southern Town. Our grand prize winner today was too close to call. With the office staff split, we've decided that Joachim Lovelace, Maximilian Sawyer, and Rosemary Michaels should all head into the southern part of town, to the overpass. We've dropped off two polish sausages and a pint of Neapolitan ice cream apiece, but only one weapon. We'll leave it to you three to figure that one out.

"I'll see the rest of you tomorrow."

The Fourth Announcement
SUNDAY, JUNE 17, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, LATE NIGHT

For most of the Arthro Taskforce, there was nothing less exciting than a bad view from the cameras. For Monica, quite the opposite was true. It was the bad views that meant trouble was brewing, that represented the greatest potential for something to go disastrously wrong.

Bad views had wrecked the last two iterations of Survival of the Fittest. In Version Three, the loss of overall coverage hadn't been treated nearly as seriously as it required. It had taken days for anyone to become suspicious of the mass of supposed deaths in the same location. The collars had been fundamentally flawed, and so a new designer had been brought in. In Version Four, things had run more smoothly on the whole, excepting the outside influence. However, once again, a student snatching a few moments of time behind a hastily constructed barricade had been enough to see a collar knocked out of commission.

The view now was better than it could have been. There were a few areas around the island that were particularly tough to monitor, but the best cameras were located in places with good angles on them. Zoom technology had advanced a lot in the past few years, and night vision was an acceptable, if flawed, option. They could, at the very least, roughly approximate positions and postures. A combination of multiple flawed technologies could create an adequate composite.

Monica had spent a lot of time reviewing how previous groups had communicated secretly. In V4, writing had been key, and so she had taken a lot of interest when all the surviving students to have encountered Karen Idel's supposed note to her parents just so happened to meet up again. In V4, the island's location had been snuck out through a game of mimicry, and so, when the group began passing a drawing in a circle, Monica had raised her eyebrow. When they had split once again, she had felt it quite likely something was about to go down.

On the laptop were two separate windows, each with a command prompt flashing.

AUTHORIZATION: KZHX87GHS

COLLAR(S): B051, B072, G014, G053

SPEED: I

CONFIRM: █

AUTHORIZATION: KZHX87GHS

COLLAR(S): B037, B039, B045, G060

SPEED: I

CONFIRM: █

She was hoping not to have to confirm. She'd come to view the kids in these groups as just a little more than numbers. It wasn't that she particularly cared about them as people, but they were her opposition at the moment. The bulk of the kids in the game were dull as hell, running and screaming and killing and dying and not even bothering to think things through with any real degree of logic.

But now, she had a really strong hunch they were at their own Endgame, one wholly different from the five or six pathetic stragglers that would be herded together in a week or whatever.

At least she'd gotten some sleep again today.

The speakers were pouring the vocals from the microphones in the collars, but she was only paying half attention. They sounded genuinely panicked, and maybe they were. Maybe they really were dying of whatever it was, but she didn't think that things were quite that simple.

The words on the screen flashed as she picked up the phone and punched a call.

It's funny what a loss of an internet connection does to the creative mind.

In what the lead technician for the Arthro Taksforce called the "off season" between now and the last time he had to perform his job, he had a surprising amount of prep work to perform. More collar fail-safe testing, particularly on those pesky heat sensors that apparently were bunk last time, new hires, team management, team-building exercises... in a sense, it was like having his dream tech job if you ignored the whole "murdering children" thing. It's a thing Lourvey thanked his position in the rear ranks of the organization for; since he didn't have to go out on the island himself, to be truly visceral with the experience, it was easier to detach himself, to decathect himself from everything.

The effort was made easier given that in spite of the surprising amount of work he had to do over the last few years, he also had a surprising amount of free time to kill. A lot of this time was spent playing computer games and generally going on his merry way as if he were still in college. Sure, it was tough to play League of Legends when you had to bounce yourself off a couple proxies in order to hide your IP, but it was still playing the game and that was something. Who cares if you're limited to only playing Master Yi?

Well, now, Lourvey wasn't even afforded that luxury. Because they were now on the job itself, everything was to be treated with the utmost care and sensitivity. Greynolds didn't want any chances taken or any risks afforded. For that, any and all of the Online Adventures of Dennis Lourvey were ended. To combat the wear and tear that the job could take on the mind and body, Lourvey had been forced to come up with a different game all his own. So, some few nervous talks to Greynolds and a few cans of courage later, he had managed to convince his boss to allow him to set up a couple of computers in a two-system network. Lourvey was a hardware engineer but he fancied knowing his way around a network as well, and from what he had been told shortly after joining the force, Greynolds was apparently a hacker too. So, the rules of the game were simple: hack into your opponent's computer to access dummy files, all while setting up walls of your own. The game also had a purpose, allowing Lourvey to keep certain skills sharp that he didn't necessarily use when staring at monitors all day and making sure all the blinky lights on a ring of metal were going "bleep".

It was during one of these moments, with the frazzled technician trying to find peace of mind in a computer screen, that the phone rang. It made him jump, and not without reason; Lourvey hadn't slept properly in a few days, worried about that damned group that threatened his job security. With a job like this one, job security was closely tied to life security. If he nodded off and stopped paying attention at a critical time, they might have another escape incident on his hands and he might be another Achlys.

God knows he still had nightmares about that.

Fishing for the phone through a mesa of red bull and mountain dew, Lourvey picked up the receiver and looked at the small screen. Then, he turned the device on and held it to his head.

"Yeah, Monica? What's up?"

"I think we may have a problem." She kept her voice calm, flat. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She glanced at the monitor showing the secondary group, but nothing seemed to be amiss there, at least so far. There was no indication of either group synchronizing in any way. She was glad they'd taken watches this game.

"Wha..." Lourvey began. She could hear the exact moment her words sank in. "Oh, wait, what? Problem? Like, a real one? Throw it at me."

"Group A, on the beach. Bad lighting, sounds like one's sick. Could be fake."

Was it fake? She bit her lip.

"That's... the one with, uh... Hunter, right?" In the background, she could hear rummaging, the clinking of some metal. Lourvey was probably digging through the mound of Red Bull cans she'd seen on his desk the last time she passed by his office.

"Yeah," she said. "Idel's hacking up a lung. He says—hang on a sec. He's getting really close. Can't see what's going on."

She squinted at the monitor. Lourvey started to say something, but she cut him off before the first syllable fully passed his lips. "Gun's near her head."

"Okay, slow down," Lourvey said. "Near the head... Group A... ... Ha. Hey, what caliber gun is he using?"

He paused for just a moment, cutting back in before Monica could reply. "Actually, it doesn't matter. If Mr. Hunter... If he shoots the collar, he's going to put Idel away for us. If that happens, I got something for you to do. Ready for this?"

"I a—" Monica began, but she was cut off by a loud beeping from the laptop. It was the noise that signaled a collar detonation, one not prompted by her orders.

Lourvey spoke more quickly now.

"Press the buttons for B72 and G14."

Monica pulled up her prompt, deleted the two extraneous numbers, changed the setting from instant detonation to a fast countdown, confirmed. Somewhere, two collars started to beep.

"Already queued," she said. "What about—"

She didn't usually challenge Lourvey when he wanted something. He was, after all, not the bravest sort, which meant he tended to avoid unnecessary risks. In this instance, though, she couldn't let it go without comment.

"Wait a sec. Wait just..."

On the screen, Hunter raised his gun towards his own neck.

"Now," Lourvey said. "Press it."

"You sure—"

"Yeah, a second after theirs start to go. Now."

AUTHORIZATION: KZHX87GHS

COLLAR(S): B051

SPEED: I

CONFIRM: YES

She slapped the enter key before the boy on the screen could pull the trigger. A split second later, the other two collars finished their countdown and also detonated.

The only sound now coming from the monitors was that of waves breaking against the shore. After a few moments, Lourvey spoke once more.

"So!" he said. "Trust that went smoothly?"

"Done," Monica replied. Her hands were starting to shake, just a little. "Yes. Shit. I'll tell Greynolds. You should wake up anyone who's asleep and make sure everyone else on the list is accounted for. Everyone."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll go and do that," Lourvey said. "Heh... I have to admit, I almost feel a little bad, but... I figured their complex plan involved a bit more than just shooting the damn things, you know?"

"I'll believe that in a week or two," Monica said. "Until then, could be a phase two. Kent pulled something similar, so..."

She trailed off, then just hung up on him. She had a lot to check out, to make sure of. A lot to suggest, too. The whole situation made her very uneasy. Was it a step towards something bigger? Had it just gone wrong? No way to say.

She was going to suggest they hold the announcement of these deaths for a day, though, if at all possible. See what else shook loose, what the kids in Group B said. That would tell them just what they were dealing with.

MONDAY, JUNE 18, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

"Good morning, kids," Tracen said. His coffee mug sat in front of him, but unlike the past few times in the seat, he was already three cups down. He didn't want to be here right now. There were things that felt more important, but that was an illusion. Any hint that anything was out of the ordinary would be damaging, in some form or another.

Greynolds had just given him an ironic little nod when they'd talked. This, Tracen suspected, was what V4 had been like all the way through. It gave him more perspective, but, he found, in this case he would have preferred to remain ignorant.

"It was another decent day from you," he continued, "but you're not breaking any records. James isn't particularly impressed.

"But, as always, here's the roll call. First off, Natalia Kowalski got herself caught in a box when the Shipping Yard became a Danger Zone. Bear that in mind in a few minutes, because a lot of you are going to want to get moving when I'm done talking.

"Jaquilyn Locke filleted Grace Faraday, before having her little breakdown. Travis Webster also joined the stabbing club, tearing Matt Masters a new windpipe. Rose Matheson also got the point of the game, or rather, of a knife wielded by Michael Eastmund. Eastmund himself succumbed to a blow to the head he took from Cody Patton shortly thereafter.

"Ray Gilbert found himself on the wrong end of Amaranta Montalvo, who demonstrated the many different ways a gun can be used to kill someone. They aren't all quick or pretty, kids.

"Resident pirate captain Sean Mulcahy executed the insubordinate crew member Aria Samuels. No mutiny aboard this Bounty, eh, matey?

"Sunny Lee brought a little doom and gloom to the life of Katy Warren, who she shot dead. Not to be outdone, Hansel Williams put wannabe undertaker Kyle Fitzpatrick in the ground."

"Alex King thought she was being particularly smart in her attempt to outwit us. She wasn't. You mess around and try to break the system, you lose your head. No exceptions.

"Speaking of trying to rebel against our way of doing things, Steven Salazar tried to talk sense into Katarina Konipaski's MAC-10. It wasn't feeling like being a good listener, though.

"Last, we had quite the chain of events. Max Sawyer was on his way to take a shot at claiming yesterday's prize, when he was ambushed. He managed to take out Emily Rose, but was shot and killed by Harry Hanley, though he fatally wounded him in the process. Gabriel Lee and Arthur Wells then wandered in. Lee shot Wells, but Hanley got off one more shot, killing Lee in the process.

"Don't think you can just walk towards the town and pick up those guns, though. Enter The Woodlands, Lighthouse Point, The Golf Course, The Shopping Center, or The Nuclear Power Plant and you'll be following Kowalski in a quick exit from the game.

"That is, except for Ms. Amaranta Montalvo, who can pick up her weapon, as well as a supreme pizza and a bottle of Fanta, in front of The Shopping Center.

"Do your best, kids. I'll talk to some of you again tomorrow."

DAY FIVE: MONDAY, JUNE 18, 2012

Weather: The weather is a little better than yesterday, with the sun peeking through at various points, but towards evening darker clouds can be seen building on the horizon. The wind on the island itself has largely died down, though. It is notanly warmer than yesterday, with highs around around 68F, 20C at 4pm. Tonight is the new moon. The fifth announcement will come at 9 AM on June 19.

The Fifth Announcement
TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 2012: WOODLANDS, 7AM

Island duty was, as far as Gordon Gladney was concerned, the best gig in the game. It was calm. Didn't involve a lot of heavy lifting. Didn't involve much getting shot at, by and large. Him and his boys, they were the weirdos of SOTF, the adventurers and campers and woodsmen, in a group dominated by fighters and geeks.

Gordon had been an urban explorer way back in the 1990s, one of the earlier ones to establish an internet foothold. He'd had all sorts of pictures of Battleship Island, and one day a man had called him, said he might have a job for someone like Gordon. Since then, he'd been one of the main people in charge of finding the locations for each game, picking places that had a good mix of structures and that weren't known enough to be immediately recognized. Everything else—the combat training, the friendships with his crew, the modus operandi of their little branch of the organization—had come later.

He was head of one of two island teams, each one consisting of three men hauling around bags full of weapons and equipment. He'd been working with Spence and Adrian since before there'd been an island team, and they worked together well. Their job was to form an immediate line of defense against any problem that might present itself during the game, and, in the event that nothing went terribly wrong, to deliver the Best Kill Award to its appropriate location at the start of every day. For V5, that meant they had to first make a trip to the most isolated part of the coast in the middle of the night, to pick up whatever food was going with the weapons. Spence had said they were the most over-payed pizza deliverymen ever to get stiffed on a tip.

The island team had come about during V3, after Sonya raised hell about the upper echelon being sent to ferry weapons to the kids. It had been a good thing, too, since during the blackout Gordon's team had to find Rizzolo to even tell him he'd won his prize. After the debacle that cost them so many men, including the other team at the time, their V4 instructions had been different: deliver weapons and intervene as a last resort only, if action absolutely must occur right away. They'd been kept off the Polanski thing because of the required repairs; Danya had figured it best to kill two birds with one stone, and Gordon had been thrilled to, once again, sit out the real action, no matter how much Spence and Adrian had groused about it. They were both slightly more soldier than he, both had a little of that battle lust left in them, or at least the capacity to get bored after two weeks bumming around an island. Gordon just wanted to enjoy the scenery.

V5 was same old. They all had tracking devices to make sure they were never near any of the kids. They wore camouflage to keep from being spotted from a distance if they screwed up their lines of sight. They kept to the Danger Zones most of the time. Avoiding detection was only even a mild challenge on the first day, when there were no places guaranteed to stay free of kids, and they had to really plan their exit strategies. Now, it was a lot of sitting back and relaxing.

Today would be especially good. The guy on the boat had brought lasagna for the Best Kill kid, and also for Gordon's crew. He'd also promised to make sure that there would be a dry place Danger Zoned, which was important because Gordon was almost positive it was going to rain. So now, they were just making their way towards town, ready for another day in paradise.

TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

"Good morning, kids."

Tracen's voice was the same as ever but today he actually felt that calm he projected. Whatever he'd been afraid of, whatever impending disaster had seemed to be looming, it hadn't come to pass. Things had quieted down. There had been a few rough spots, according to security, but none of them were connected. He tried to keep himself on edge, to keep from becoming complacent, but it was difficult, and in this moment, he gave up the struggle, just until the announcements were done.

He took a sip of his coffee and continued.

"You've had another decent day, though a good number of those responsible for that aren't around anymore to reap the rewards. It's what happens as the game goes on. Let their errors be a lesson to the rest of you trying to make it home.

"And, speaking of errors attempting to get home, let's start with a doozy. A short while before our last announcement, Karen Idel, Gavin Hunter, Cyrus White, and Megan Emerson tried to get their collars off. I'll spare you the details and just say it was a partial success, in that they no longer have collars. Unfortunately for them, they also lost their necks.

"Sophie McDowell and Alexander de Gaulle both fell prey to a grenade thrown by Summer Simms. Ms. Simms didn't get away with it this time, though, being put down by Mara Montalvo.

"Yukiko Sakurai expired a good while after having her head smacked against a truck by Jenna Rhodes. Just goes to show that you should be careful how you handle your friends. They can break easily.

"Ami Flynn demonstrated much the same, when she bludgeoned Sara Corlett to death. Not how I'd use a gun, but it got the job done all the same.

"Bianca Howard fell victim to Theodore Fletcher, in one final hurrah. He then ran off and got himself killed in a showdown with Hansel Williams, our favorite cowboy. Happy Trails, Mr. Fletcher; maybe if you'd tried some tactics you could've walked away from this.

"Which brings us to Lana Torres, killed in ambush by Katarina Konipaski. Good use of a choke point, Ms. Konipaski. It was impressive enough, even if Ms. Torres didn't get a chance to return fire.

"Another who went out with a wimper was Brianna Battaglia, who took too many pills and went to sleep. That's called natural selection, folks.

"Michelle Wexler spent a long time trying to get people to lay down and die with her. In the end, though, Eliza Patton decided that wasn't for her, and and sent Wexler into the great beyond by herself.

"Paulo Abbate went for a trip of his own, when he provoked Ian Williams. Williams hurled him off the overpass, and he landed hard. Easy ten count and out.

"Travis Webster chopped up Edgar Tolstoff, threatening to kill his sister the whole time. Well, I'm sorry to tell you, Mr. Webster, that Stacy Ramsey beat you to the punch, gunning down Katarin Tolstoff and Miranda Millers while they were sitting around having a chat.

"Finally, in between Mr. Webster's horror film and Ms. Ramsey's rampage, Jesse Jennings got his hands on a loose collar. It didn't turn out so well for him, though. Bombs are dangerous, kids. Don't play with them. They're liable to go off in your hands.

"It's pretty grey out there, so you'll all want to hustle for shelter. Just don't try to find it in the School Buildings, the Aviary, the Homestead, the Southern Town, Central Park, the Northern Coast, or the Woodlands, still off limits from yesterday.

"There's a slight exception for Hansel Williams, who can make his way to the School Grounds for a heaping tray of lasagna and a gun. They're in one of the buses.

"Everyone else, keep up the good work, and try to stay dry. I'll talk to some of you tomorrow."

The Sixth Announcement
TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 5PM

"Excuse me." Christina Stockton stood in the mess hall, watching the dozen or so members of the AT currently eating there. With the way the game worked, they were all on different schedules, some of the men and women in front of her grabbing a quick dinner, others their breakfast. The cooks kept a rotation of high energy foods going, with options suitable to any time of day. She was pretty sure every time she'd seen Shamino in the room, he'd had waffles on his plate.

"Excuse me," she said again, louder this time. She was standing roughly in the front of the room, holding a clean metal pot and a ladle, borrowed from the kitchen specifically for this purpose. A clipboard was tucked under her arm. She banged the ladle against the pot, the clanging echoing through the chamber, cutting through conversations and rousing the half-conscious from their stupors.

"Excuse me, everyone. I have an important announcement to make."

All eyes turned to her, and she felt a little flutter of excitement. She was the one to break the news. After a long week, this was exactly what they needed to get morale up, get everyone back on track. And, besides, this year she was going to win.

"We just hit the halfway point," she said. She waited a few seconds, for the cheers to subside. Now she had their attention. The veterans, in particular, were excited. "You know what that means."

Christina set down the pot and ladle on the table closest the front of the room, then laid the clipboard next to them.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "bets are open. You know the drill: twenty bucks in the pot, predict the winner, whoever's pick takes it home or gets the closest takes the pot. No duplicate picks. So grab 'em early."

And, right at the top of the sheet, in the very first slot, was written: Domino — Iselle Ovalle-Vandermeer

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 20, 2012: UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, 9AM

Once again, Tracen Danya sat in the chair behind the microphone, coffee in hand. It was strange, how what had felt so alien less than a week ago now felt almost routine. The goings-on on the island had similarly lost some of their interest, falling even further into routine than he'd always viewed them. The only thing of note was the degree to which the deaths had tapered off a little bit after the high of the past three days—the result, most likely, of the size of the island compared to the dwindling size of the Aurora High graduating class, and of the loss of some of the game's notable motivators.

They'd come up with a good way to deal with that, though.

"Good morning, kids," he began. "I'm sorry to say that, after a very promising start, you've begun to slow down again. This is especially true given how many of you bumbled your way into stupid ends over the past few days. Surely you want to survive, don't you? Ah, but first let me tell you who won't be joining you in that struggle.

"To start with, Garrett Wilde stabbed Jaquilyn Locke; that one was actually yesterday, and just got missed in the shuffle.

"Gwen O'Connor and Casey Malkovich made undignified exits without the aide of their fellow classmates, though a swan dive off the cliffs and getting stuck in a danger zone, respectively. I'd ask anyone else intent on killing themselves to just get it over with, if you don't mind. It saves us some manpower, and it makes it easier on your friends to not have to hear about someone new giving up every single day.

"Cassidy Kant didn't give up, even in the face of her tragic loss a few days ago. It didn't help her too much, though, when she ended up soaking up Tyler Lucas' bullets. Just goes to show, you should be careful who you ally with. They might have enemies of their own.

"Katarina Konipaski then caught up with Cassandra Black, shooting, chopping—let's just say, making a mess of her.

"Speaking of messes, Oscar Trig made quite the pool on the floor of the mall after he was stabbed by Benjamin Ward. It's another lesson in the dangers of alliances. You never know when you'll find yourself expendable, and not everyone's willing to let you resign with grace.

"And that's not the only lack of manners we saw. Garrett Wilde was right in the middle of a fight when he was stabbed in the back by Andi Victorino. He didn't make it. Probably for the best; three's a crowd.

"Chase Rodriguez became Katarina Konipaski's second victim of the day, in a fairly clean shooting. Eliza Patton managed about the same, bringing down Garrett Cobbler.

"Meanwhile, Sunny Cho Lee tried to lift Joachim Lovelace's bag. He was more than willing to lend her his knife, though not in the way she'd have likely preferred.

"Kids, have you ever wondered why we're called Survival of the Fittest? Well, some just aren't fit to survive. Such was the case with Joseph Chaplin, who managed to run into a bar sticking out of his own impromptu barricade, impaling himself.

"Oh, and I almost forgot—Claire Monaghan smashed Matthew Young in the head with a flashlight, sending him toppling down a ledge to his death, and Alda Abbate strangled Meera Stele to death.

"You may notice that there's just too much space for all of you to run around in. We've noticed that, too. As such, for the remainder of the game, you're all to stick to the north-western, built up section of the island. That means that the Woodlands, the Nuclear Plant, the Nuclear Living Site, the Airstrip, the Golf Course, the Amusement Park, the Homestead, the Northern Coast, and Lighthouse Point are all off limits for the remainder of the game. Additionally, Central Park is restricted only for tomorrow, unless you're Andi Victorino. You impressed us, Ms. Victorino. Head to the park, and you'll get a new weapon, a big basket of fish and chips, and a smoothie.

"I'll check in with everyone left standing tomorrow. Pick up the pace, or we'll have to push you a little closer in.

"Goodbye for now."